


knowing me (knowing you)

by communikate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Omega Keith (Voltron), Omega Verse, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Scenting, allura is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/communikate/pseuds/communikate
Summary: After a mission with the Blades, Keith comes back acting strangely, and Shiro is determined to find out why.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 112
Collections: Sheithlentines 2021





	knowing me (knowing you)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to post my gift for Sheithlentines!!
> 
> Jackie (@JackieArtsie on twitter), I hope you enjoy this piece! I tried to make it as fluffy and as soft as possible (.❛ ᴗ ❛.) I hope you have a wonderful Valentines Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→
> 
> The title is from the ABBA song of the same name, which has been stuck in my head since I decided on the title ♪♫♬

“Sir,” Veronica speaks up from her position at the command center, stationed just to Shiro’s left.

It’s been a peaceful day, stationed in the farthest corner of the Xalian quadrant in order to study the effects of the nearest stars’ solar flares on the Coalition planets. At least, that’s what Pidge, Hunk, Matt, and the other brilliant scientist aboard have been doing. Shiro’s been enjoying the view from Atlas’ bridge between intergalactic video meetings with the Galaxy Garrison and the Queen of New Altea, Allura.

He shifts in his chair, ignoring the buzz of Altas in the back of his mind.

“Blade ship XJ067 requests permission to dock on Altas’ bay G7,” Veronica finishes when it’s clear she has Shiro’s attention.

Bubbles made of helium rise up in his lungs, a sensation he can’t even hope to fight. His breath catches in his lungs. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips. His knees go weak while his feet feel leaded to the floor. All this from just the knowledge that _he_ is finally back on board. He can’t fight his smile as he nods in Veronica’s direction.

Shiro knows that his tone belies his excitement, “You know Keith doesn’t need permission to land, Veronica.”

Her smile is thin and on the verge of playful. “I know.” There’s something beneath her tone that Shiro doesn’t have time to decipher.

He stands up and dusts off the lap of his Garrison-regulation slacks. With a quick nod to his team, Shiro is out into the many shifting hallways of the ship and fighting the urge to run to bay G7.

It’s been almost a month since he’s seen Keith.

Of course, they smile and talk about business during the unending onslaught of bureaucratic video calls every day. But other than those and their few personal calls, it feels like ages since they’ve spoken.

Shiro once thought that he became accustomed to watching Keith leave, Blade suit on and smile small and private, but it never gets easier. In the same breath, he wishes that his heart didn’t jumpstart every time he heard Keith’s ship number announced by one of his team. Wishes that he could deny the palm-sweating, mouth-drying, nervous-laughter-inducing, soul-sucking crush he has on Keith.

Well, crush may be putting it lightly.

But Shiro refuses to dwell on that, even as his heart rate increases with every step closer to Keith.

He enters the bay just as the exterior doors roll to a shut. The ship hovers for a moment before gracefully setting down in the designated area. And if Shiro didn’t already know who’s ship was landing, he would know it was Keith just by the way he flies.

As he strides across the bay, the ship door opens and a small ramp descends. Keith steps out, and the sight alone takes Shiro’s breath away.

Keith’s dressed in his traditional Blade suit, tight against every swell of muscle and curve of his body. His shoulders look even more broad as he wears his newest cropped red jacket on overtop of the skin-tight bodysuit. With his hair tied back in the beginnings of a braid, he looks radiant. His smile is small and there are shadows under his eyes, poorly hidden beneath the longest edges of his bangs.

Shiro comes to a stop at the bottom of the ramp and gives his best friend a warm smile. “Good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Keith huffs a laugh and takes Shiro’s extended hand for a brief hug.

Shiro has to hold his breath so he doesn’t try to breathe in Keith’s familiar scent. And he hates how much of a fight it is.

He wants to draw in the familiar notes of Keith’s scent, analyze them to make sure that his friend is safe and healthy after his long journey. Or to just solidify that Keith is truly back on the Altas. Or to see if he still remembers every single fragment of his scent: the hints of cinnamon beneath the depth of the dark chocolate, like crisp fall days and late afternoon sunshine, like the smokey woodsy scent of a freshly burned campfire.

Keith confided in him once that many had complained about his scent, claiming that it was out of place for his character — too sweet for his personality and too harsh for an omega.

Shiro couldn’t disagree more.

Keith has always been fiery, determined, and confident in himself most of all. His scent is independent and warm in the most familiar of ways — like home and gentle friendship that burns through the night like a steadily sizzling ember. 

But instead of drawing in Keith’s scent, Shiro keeps his composure and holds his breath. He pulls away from his best friend with a soft smile.

Keith glances up at him, returning the grin, but there’s a tightness to his lips that Shiro wants to take the time to decipher. But before he’s able to, Keith says, “Did I make it back in time for the meeting at 0900?”

“Fifteen doboshes to spare,” Shiro chuckles as he checks in with Atlas.

“Oh. Yay.” Keith’s sarcasm is as dry as the desert he was born in.

As Keith takes the final step down from the ramp, he stumbles. Shiro reaches out to catch him, grabbing a hold of his arm and towering above him. A stifled gasp through his nose is all it takes to catch Keith’s scent.

Or it should’ve been.

All he can smell is the heavy peppermint order of scent blockers, thick and almost gummy in the air. It’s disorienting breathing in such a quantity at once that he hesitates before letting Keith go.

His inner alpha misses the depth of Keith’s omega scent, especially after the time they’ve been apart.

All he wants to do is bury his nose in Keith’s neck and search out the scent he is so familiar with. He wants to categorize every note and make sure that his omega — not _his_ omega, though — is okay. But, even if Keith weren’t wearing scent blockers, Shiro hasn’t been given permission for that.

So he rolls his shoulders back and gives Keith a small smile. “I thought your trip was over, Keith.”

“Shut it, old man,” Keith grumbles and rolls his eyes at Shiro’s bad joke. The omega ducks his head to hide his sudden blush. He bumps his shoulder against Shiro’s before he stalks off across the bay without a second glance back.

Shiro can’t help his laugh as he follows.

*.°•☆•°∵°•☆•°.*

The overwhelming odor of scent blockers was Shiro’s first clue that something was off. And now, sitting through another bureaucratic meeting with the Galaxy Garrison and Allura feels like another.

Keith hasn’t spoken once. Which in it of itself isn’t abnormal. But when Shiro has turned to him for his opinion, it seems to startle Keith. He says the right things, tone just a touch above deadpan, and the conversation continues on.

Maybe it’s because they’re in the same room, but Shiro can’t help but notice the glassiness to Keith’s gaze. Or the way he doesn’t offer his opinion when Iverson speaks up again about a registry for Galra spacecrafts.

_“It’s like an intergalactic DMV, Shiro. Hell would have to freeze over before I gave Iverson the go ahead,”_ Keith had commented during one of their infrequent video calls when he was away.

But today, he just stays silent.

Maybe it’s because Keith’s been up since 0400 Galactic Standard Time. Or maybe it’s the Olkari catering spread out before them, too high in plant material for Keith’s carnivorous diet. Or maybe it’s the fact that this meeting has stretched late into the afternoon when it was probably something that could’ve been covered in an email.

Allura catches Shiro’s gaze, and she tilts her head to the side, questioning the clear look of contemplation on his features. She’s in the middle of explaining the colonization of the new planet of Altea and the migration of all of Romelle’s people.

Iverson has his feet kicked up on his desk and is picking under his nails with a paperclip. He stopped giving helpful answers over 30 minutes ago when Sam Holt came in to update everyone about the reclamation of Earth.

It’s been a sensitive topic for them all — especially with the strange knowledge that all the paladins had lost four years in order to close the rifts Lotor had made. But it is a steady process, and Shiro feels that as Earth slowly heals, so does he.

“Thanks for today, everyone.” Shiro ends the meeting with a polite smile and a promise to set up dinner with Allura and Lance as soon as Atlas is back in their quadrant.

Shiro rises from his seat with a groan, rolling out his neck and massaging at the persistent kink in it. He makes it three steps to the door when he realizes that Keith hasn’t even moved.

He’s still hunched over the table, eyes glossy and lost with his hands squeezed tightly into fists.

“Keith,” Shiro asks quietly, a whisper in the emptiness of the room.

The mere sound of his name seems to startle him. Keith jumps to his feet with wide eyes and a hand reaching for the dagger in his belt. It takes him a moment to look over at Shiro, and a breath longer for that glossiness to leave his gaze.

“Yeah?” Keith breathes as Shiro watches a tightness fade from his best friend’s chest.

Shiro walks to the other side of the table and presses his prosthesis to Keith’s shoulder, aching to feel how the omega shudders under the touch. “Are you doing okay, Keith?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just hungry. And tired.” He huffs a laugh and rolls out from under Shiro’s palm. “Been up since like four in the morning.”

“I know,” Shiro begins as he drops his prosthesis back to his side. He parts his lips to press, because he’s not sure that hungry and tired can account for all of Keith’s abnormal behavior. But Keith gives him a smile — it’s a pleading thing — and his stomach growls. A blush colors the omega’s face, but before he can say anything, Shiro speaks up, “Well, it’s a good thing that we missed the cafeteria lunch rush, huh?”

Keith rises to the lightheartedness in Shiro’s tone, giving the alpha a warm smile. “Yeah. Lucky.”

*.°•☆•°∵°•☆•°.*

Turns out that those weren’t the only two weird things with Keith today.

The third is that he’s barely eaten anything. The sight of him pushing his food around his plate is such a juxtaposition to how he normally behaves after missions — shoveling food and worrying about “manners” after — that it sets Shiro’s teeth on edge.

Fourth, Keith has been tuning out of _all_ conversations. It’s not just meetings that receive his glossied-eyed demeanour. Even during their lunch Keith was constantly jumping back into their conversation with a withered smile and a soft nod like that’ll wash away the evidence that he clearly wasn’t listening. That far-off quality to his gaze hasn’t abated either.

Fifth, he’s been more jumpy than normal. 

He has always been a skittish person, ever since he was a kid — always set on edge and ready to fly into action at the slightest movement. But today, he’s been reaching for his knife at every loud noise or sudden movement.

The harsh reactions set Shiro’s teeth on edge. A half-formed growl sits at the back of his throat, ready to snap at whoever or whatever is putting Keith so on edge.

But there’s nothing there.

Sixth, there’s something unnameable — something that Shiro can’t put his finger on — that has shifted about Keith’s demeanour.

Only one example of how Keith is acting weird would drive Shiro towards finding an answer, towards something more tangible than these fragments of moments. Something that he can do, solutions he can provide for Keith, comfort that he can give with open arms.

But now he has six examples.

And Shiro’s determined to figure out what’s wrong.

*.°•☆•°∵°•☆•°.*

“Come to my room for dinner tonight,” Shiro corners Keith in the hallway and invites him with a pleasant smile. It’s a normal enough part of their routine that Keith doesn’t even flinch at the invitation.

“Sure.” He plucks at the hem of his cropped jacket. “Let me just get out of this stuff and shower. If it weren’t for the filtration system in these suits, I think I would be scaring everyone away.” His chuckle is half-hearted, a matched set with his smile.

Shiro smiles instead of speaking, because there’s a growl growing in the back of his throat. Because even through the filters of Keith’s Blade suit, the only thing Shiro can smell are scent blockers. The peppermint stings his nose even now, hours after Keith stepped off his cruiser.

A smirk curls on the corner of Keith’s lips, so familiar and so out of place with all of the weird moments between them today. “So what’s on the menu?”

“Uh,” Shiro stumbles, “it’s a surprise?”

A laugh bursts from Keith. It’s warm and anything but delicate.

Shiro wishes that he could inhale and draw in the bright scent of Keith’s happiness. But there is only the lingering peppermint that burns his nostrils — like it’s a punishment for attempting to scent Keith without his permission.

“Sounds good,” Keith chuckles as he pats Shiro’s arm and heads towards his quarters.

It isn’t until the group of MFEs come barrelling down the hallway in a storm of noise that Shiro realizes he’s been staring after Keith, even since he faded from view. Trying to catch fragments of him in the air.

He nods towards the MFEs before Nadia and Ina can come up with any number of inane questions to ask him. He needs all the time he has until Keith arrives at his rooms to think of something for dinner. Or to think of some way to bring up what has clearly been going on with Keith today.

Either way, Shiro has a lot to think on.

*.°•☆•°∵°•☆•°.*

When Keith arrives at his door, he’s wearing casual clothes: leggings and a big hoodie. His hands are tucked in the large front pocket and the hood casts a shadow across his features. He looks even more worn down out of his Blade uniform. Small and fragile, like those thin wrists couldn’t support throwing a man over his shoulder — which is something he is most definitely capable of.

“Hey,” Shiro exhales, taking a moment to breathe Keith in as tension leaks from his own shoulders.

There’s the lingering scent of peppermint, but now he can catch fragments of Keith’s natural scent beneath it all. It’s refreshing, just a hint of chocolate and cinnamon, enough to tickle his nose and linger against his soft palette. The whiff of it seems to settle something within Shiro, something possessive and innate that he can only attribute to his inner alpha.

“Hi, sorry I’m late. I just —”

Shiro waves him off and steps out of the threshold to his apartment and motions for Keith to follow. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I was cooking.”

“You don’t say?” Keith’s tone is playful as he toes off his shoes at the door and steps into Shiro’s rooms.

They’re large enough to equal his rank on the Altas. He has a living room connected to a generously-sized kitchen that goes mostly unused. Just beyond them is his bedroom and the bathroom that Atlas has been gradually expanding for him. The tub is big enough for him to submerge his chest and his knees at the same time; it’s a luxury he lavishes in as frequently as possible.

As all of the rooms aboard Atlas, they’re styled in shades of white, grey, and orange. But Shiro’s rooms are a slightly warmer shade, colored to comfort and to warm even when space seems like miles and miles of icy cold and nothingness.

The kitchen is barely used with posh white cabinets that automatically open when Shiro waves a hand before them. Spread out on the breakfast bar are a series of mismatched tupperware containers interspersed with a couple of casual table settings. The formal dining table just steps beyond the breakfast bar is rarely used.

“Got Hunk to do your dirty work, huh?” Keith asks as he picks up a tupperware. Hunk’s handwriting is obvious on the sticky notes attached to every lid, describing everything with all of the reheating instructions. There are little doodles of smiley faces and hearts. There’s even a robotic lion drawing that makes Shiro’s heart clench.

Even with Atlas humming in the back of his mind, the loss of the lions that fateful day when they pieced the universe back together still lingers like an old wound on his heart.

But Keith’s soft smile, almost hidden beneath the hood of his jacket, brings Shiro back to the present.

“I didn’t want to give you food poisoning on your first night back.” Shiro shrugs as he plucks two cups of water from the counter and presses one into Keith’s hands.

Keith accepts the glass and slides into his normal seat at the bar. The stool is just tall enough that his toes don’t reach the ground, instead settling on one of the rungs that connect the legs. “Last time wasn’t that bad.”

“Medical put you on bedrest for a week, Keith,” Shiro admonishes as he plucks the tupperware from Keith before he can tear into the food with his hands.

Keith rolls his eyes and uses his spoon to divy up the food until each plate has an equal amount.

“I wasn’t out of commission that long,” Keith says around a bite of food, moaning at the taste.

Shiro hates how the sound of Keith’s innocent moan makes a shiver traipse up the length of his spine. His subconscious fights to piece together how that sound could be replicated, debauched, turned into something he’s always longed to hear.

He coughs, choking on a too-dry bite of food — or maybe it was his mouth that suddenly went dry. He sips on his water and levels Keith with a withering stare. “That’s because you ignored your doctor’s orders.” 

“I took them more as suggestions rather than orders,” Keith jokes, stabbing his fork into the last purpled slice of meat on Shiro’s plate.

He doesn’t even try to fight Keith off, because it feels good to have Keith take what he needs from Shiro — like Shiro can provide for him. And it’s thoughts like that that make him grit his teeth and chew a little too hard on his next bite. He can’t blame his instincts for everything.

But he wants to. Wants to say that it is something instinctual in him that drives him to protect Keith. Because it’d be easier to admit that rather than his jealousy and possessiveness, especially when Keith isn’t even his.

Admitting those dark emotions would be easier than confessing how much he wants Keith to be his. How the desire aches within him like a visceral thing, like a still healing scar or the phantom pain of a limb he never had in the first place.

Instead of lingering on the ache of his longing, he focuses all of his attention on Keith and watches some of the normalcy return to his actions.

So despite the awkwardness of Keith’s earlier behavior and their past interactions today, it doesn’t take long for them to fall back into their familiar pattern. It’s a camaraderie that has followed them for years. It tortured Adam back in the days of the Garrison: Golden Boy Shirogane running around with the delinquent on his last chance, getting on like two bats out of hell. But it’s something that Shiro’s never had to fight, an ease that he can settle into after a long day.

As they eat, the hunger he is familiar with is back. But it’s only a fraction of what it normally is. Keith eats an entire plate of Hunk’s prepared dinner and doesn’t ask for seconds.

But he stays focused on their conversation. Shiro doesn’t catch sight of that glassiness or that distracted pattern he watched during every meeting today.

It’s calming to watch Keith relax so thoroughly in his space.

His inner alpha purrs and claims that of course his omega would feel protected in his den. But Keith isn’t _his_ omega. He doesn’t belong to anyone — maybe except the expanse of stars and the call of adventure.

There’s nothing that could tether Keith to any one planet or mission.

He’s free in ways that Shiro longs for but is too terrified to reach for.

With a sigh, Keith slumps in his chair and settles his cheek on his shoulder to gaze at Shiro beside him. His gaze is from under his sooty lashes, and there is a slight flush of contentment to his features that ignites something within Shiro. His voice is quiet when he asks, “So what now?”

“Huh?” Shiro stumbles over his words, caught up in the handsomeness that is Keith Kogane.

Shiro can’t help but reach out and brush a strand of hair from Keith’s forehead. It’s strange how the action feels so natural, so instinctual, when he’s never done anything like it before. Keith seems to lean into the gentle touch of his fingertips as they curl around his ear and tuck the tendril of hair away.

“Want to watch a movie or something? Or are you too tired to hang out?” Keith’s voice is on the edge of playful.

The sound of Keith’s voice draws Shiro out of the haze that is curling around him.

He coughs and straightens his shoulders. He’s not due for a rut for another six weeks, and yet he feels like a prepubescent alpha caught in the snares of rut for the first time, mesmerized by the first subtle fragrance of an omega. At 32, he’s no teenage alpha, but he is mesmerized by Keith Kogane.

“A movie sounds good,” Shiro says, almost not recognizing his own voice.

In a few minutes they are curled on opposite ends of the two-seater couch, Keith’s feet tucked under Shiro’s thigh, and some strange movie playing on the television. With his knees tucked to his chest, Keith looks far younger than his twenty five years. His gaze is half on the screen as his eyelids keep slipping closed. The peppermint of scent blockers has faded leaving behind the comfort of Keith’s natural scent, all sweet chocolate and the pleasant burn of cinnamon. The happiness is clear in every facet of his scent.

Shiro struggles to stop the rumble in his chest, contented and warm, at the sight of Keith. Instead he attempts to focus on the movie. Despite all of these distractions, Shiro cannot stop remembering all of the odd behaviors Keith had earlier. It does nothing to stop the worry.

But Keith has never been the type to react well to prying. He comes to Shiro when he is ready to share. Shiro just doesn’t know if he can wait too long before he worries new paths from pacing within his own mind.

It all comes to a head an hour into the movie when Keith jerks awake with a swallowed scream on his lips.

Shiro is jolted out of his light doze and assaulted by the acrid scent of the room. Burned chocolate, charred cinnamon, a fire that has burned too hot and too long leaving only empty smoke and embers behind.

Keith whimpers, drawing all of Shiro’s attention. He’s curled in on himself, hands buried into his hair, as tremors race through his muscles. A thin coat of sweat covers his skin even as goosebumps pull at his thin body hair. A shrill seems to be building in the back of his throat.

With a gentleness he is only capable of with Keith, Shiro slowly crosses the couch to Keith’s side. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re here with me.” His voice is quiet, a timbre that is delicate but strong enough to provide protection.

Keith can’t seem to hear him though. His hands jolt, turning his fingernails towards the tender skin of his scalp.

Shiro presses into Keith’s space, keeping enough distance between them so that they aren’t touching. He delicately wraps his hands around Keith’s wrists and pulls them from his hair, ignoring the dusting of blood on his nails. With a deliberate breath, Shiro releases a calming scent from his glands — something that mimics safety, the contentedness he felt just minutes earlier.

That seems to get Keith’s attention.

His chin tilts up, finally meeting Shiro’s gaze with yellowed sclera and slitted pupils. In a flash of movement, Keith has pressed himself to Shiro’s chest, nose buried in the length of his neck. The omega trembles in his tentative grip as he inhales Shiro’s scent, the comfort and safety.

Shiro slowly releases his grip on Keith’s wrists and swallows the satisfied groan as Keith winds his arms around his neck. He buries himself more fully against the alpha’s throat.

The acrid scent dissipates slightly.

Shiro closes his eyes and fights against all of his instincts — the ones that yell and scream to take and take and take and to find whatever caused _his omega_ stress and make sure that it can never hurt him again. Instead, he gently brushes a hand along Keith’s spine. The other buries in the long, braided tendrils of Keith’s hair. “There. Take whatever you need, Keith.” His voice is deep, the verge of a rumble in his chest.

Keith relaxation is sudden. He slumps in Shiro’s grip, tension leaking out of his shoulders and a purr kickstarting in his chest.

“That’s it. You’re safe here,” Shiro whispers against the curve of Keith’s ear. He can’t fight the instinctual tightening of his grasp when he feels Keith’s lips brush against his scent gland.

His arousal is evident in the depths of his own scent, beneath the heat of the desert and the crispness of mountain air. He hopes that Keith doesn’t notice it, but he also knows it must be obvious where Keith is pressed against his scent gland. But instead of lingering on his worries, he focuses on Keith and on keeping his scent calming.

Shiro isn’t sure how long it takes for Keith to finally pull away from him.

There’s a redness that has burned itself into his white sclera and into the milky white skin around his eyes and the tip of his nose. Strands of his hair are flying free from the braid, pulled free from either Shiro’s fingers or the sharp edge of his stubble. His scent has mellowed to warm chocolate with bitter, bitter cinnamon. But even with all this evidence tears, there’s something that’s a little steadier to Keith.

Keith sniffles slightly and scrubs at his nose. His gaze is purposefully fixed at the credits rolling on the television.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shiro whispers as he watches the way Keith’s shoulders immediately tense.

He’s curled into the collar of his hoodie, and his words are muffled when he mumbles, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Keith.” Shiro sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t want to push, but he can’t help it when Keith was crying in his arms just minutes earlier. His inner alpha growls and presses closer to the surface.

Keith sets his teeth on edge and slowly uncurls. He plants his feet on the floor and clenches his hands into his fists. His gaze has dropped to the ground so that his bangs cover his profile, but with the tense silence, Shiro knows that Keith is chewing over his words.

What comes out is bitten off and on the verge of shouting, “Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything, but I want you to be able to confide in me when it’s so obvious you’ve been hurting.”

The air between them stills, freezes with something that’s caught between a lightning strike and a gentle sigh.

Keith curls a little more into himself, shoulders tensed and hunched. His words are bitten off as they rumble from his chest, “How — how do you know?”

“How do I know what?” Shiro can smell his sudden confusion in his own scent, and it must be obvious to Keith on the other side of the couch.

Shiro wants to rein in his scent, keep his emotions in check and be the leader everyone expects him to be. But somehow, Keith makes it far too easy to broadcast every fluctuation — and that seems to set him more on edge.

Keith’s gaze jumps to Shiro’s: reddened and narrowed.

“How do you know that I’ve been upset? I mean — my mom didn’t even say anything before I left this morning? So how — how do you _know_ , Shiro?” Keith slowly unravels from his hunched position. With one knee braced on the couch, he shifts until he’s towering over Shiro.

“It’s the same way that you know when I’m struggling.” The words rush out of him, because it’s somehow easy to acquiesce to Keith, even when he’s peering down and rumbling like an apha. Shiro has never bared his neck for anyone, but he wants to for Keith. To lure the omega in, to be a touchstone in the torrent of the world. “The same way you know when I’m having a bad day or stayed up all night because of nightmares.”

Keith scoffs, pulling back slightly and crossing his arms. His gaze jumps to the television as the credits end and the movie transitions back to the menu screen. He whispers, “It’s not the same.”

For as quiet and delicate as the words are, they are like a punch to the gut. The wind rushes out of Shiro’s lungs, and he can’t keep the threadbare nature out of his tone, “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s not the same. And it’ll never be the same.” It’s growled between Keith’s teeth. Feral and defensive, and Shiro can see the glint of fangs pushing at Keith’s bottom lip.

“Keith, all I was saying was that we care about each other so we notice the things that other people don’t.” It’s like bile burning through his throat to say, but he would swallow fistfuls of thumb tacks just to keep Keith happy, so he says it anyway, “We’re like brothers, aren’t we?”

Keith’s laugh is derisive, wet from lingering tears and mucus that has lined the back of his throat. His head tips back in show, but quickly snaps to meet Shiro’s gaze. There’s something flickering in his gaze that Shiro can’t decipher. “Yeah, _brothers_.”

“Keith —”

“Do you want to know why it’ll never be the same?” Keith’s words have a razor’s edge to them — like they were sharpened to cut and to hurt. Shiro has heard the tone from the omega before, but it’s never been directed at him; it doubles the winded sensation from earlier.

Keith’s arms drop from his sides, and in the low light of his apartment, Shiro swears tears glint in the omega’s eyes.

Keith’s tone is wet as he speaks through tears, “It’s because I’ve been in love with you for years, Shiro! I’ve been so goddamn in love with you that I can even tell the minute differences in your scent. I could write books about the dumb way your eyebrows pinch depending on how much caffeine you’ve had. I could detail all of your habits, all that self-sacrificing bullshit you love to tote around as ‘good leadership.’ I could make the entire world fall in love with you just by telling them how much _I love you_.” He shudders through an inhale that’s more of a sob than a breath. There’s a darkened spark of humor to his next words. “Well, maybe not the entire world.”

Shiro’s positive that the Atlas’ gravity simulators must have malfunctioned. He doesn’t feel tethered to the world anymore. The only thing keeping him grounded — the only thing that has kept him grounded through battle after battle, through victory and defeat, through loss and pain and nightmares and triumphs — is Keith.

He reaches out a hand, desperate to cradle the omega before him. To pull Keith to his chest once again. To bare his neck and bind himself to his omega forever.

“Keith —”

“And I know you don’t feel the same, so tomorrow, can pretend this never happened?” Fear has splintered through Keith’s expression. His eyes are wide like he can’t believe all of the words that just spilled from his lips. His scent has turned bitter, burnt to ash in the wake of his anger. “I can’t — I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t. You won’t lose me.” At the sound of Keith’s distress, Shiro is shocked from his stupor. He bridges the gap between them and grabs a hold of Keith’s hands. With a gentle squeeze, he forces Keith’s gaze to meet him. The words feel surreal as they drift off his lips, “I love you, Keith.”

Keith smiles, but it’s a watery bitter thing. “As a brother, I know.” 

Shiro can see it in every muscle in Keith’s body — he’s going to run. But before he can even shift towards the door, Shiro has tightened and shifted his grip to both of those slender wrists. Keith’s eyes are wide and bloodshot as they gaze up at Shiro.

“Not as a brother. Never as a brother.” He can smell the shift in his own scent, the pure adoration that smells like sunshine and summer heat rolls off him in waves. He watches the exact moment Keith smells it. His eyes widen, and Shiro says again, “I love you, Keith, more than I have ever loved anyone. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. So it is the same.” 

“Shiro —” 

“I could write songs and poems and novels about everything that I love about you and still have more to describe.” Shiro’s tone warbles from the swallowed tears burning at the back of his throat. “You’re the brightest star in my universe, and I won’t be foolish enough to let you go twice.”

“But after the fight —”

“I didn’t know how to face you.” Shiro releases his grip on one of Keith’s wrists. With a tentative stretch, he traces the scar that decorates Keith’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. It’s still raised and rough to the touch. It’s been less than a year since Shiro burned the mark upon his omega’s face. “I couldn’t stand to be around you knowing that I had hurt you so badly. I — I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”

Keith leans into Shiro’s flesh palm. He turns into the touch, dragging his lips along the tender skin of his inner wrist. “I have.”

The word is like a gasp from Shiro’s lungs, “What?”

“I’ve already forgiven you, Shiro.” Keith’s eyes flicker open, and there is such conviction in his tone, in his scent, in his stance that Shiro can’t question him.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, unable to help himself as he draws his omega to his chest. His hand buries into the back of Keith’s hair as he pulls them both back down to the couch.

Keith tilts his chin up and catches Shiro’s eyes. With a curling smirk, Keith deliberately lets his gaze fall to Shiro’s lips. “Shiro,” Keith exhales as he pushes up and closes the distance between them.

The kiss is everything Shiro has ever imagined. It’s like gravity, like a comet trailing across the sky, like fireworks and all of those cliché analogies. But Shiro has never been kissed like this, never been loved like this, and it all feels like a revelation.

He tightens his grip on Keith, keeping the omega pressed to him, because he’s sure the second he pulls away this will all be some beautiful dream. The moment he opens his eyes, the taste of Keith on his tongue will vanish and be lost to the gauzy-edges of sleep.

He’s determined to burn this dream into his memory, to make the most of this moment. So he opens his mouth and brushes his tongue against Keith’s lips, asking for entrance.

With a sigh and the sudden relaxation of his shoulders, Keith allows him in and enthusiastically moans. His fingers crawl up Shiro’s chest and wind around his neck, like he’s just as determined as Shiro to never let go.

But eventually, they have to break apart, to breath and to allow this moment to sink in.

The room smells of happiness, and Shiro hopes that it saturates into the walls and the furniture so that he can forever be reminded of his moment — so that these empty apartments aboard the Atlas can feel like home.

“Wow,” Keith sighs, eyes fluttering open. His expression turns gooey and soft, something that Shiro has never seen before. “I never imagined it would be that amazing.”

“Have you imagined it before?” Shiro asks as he tucks a piece of Keith’s bangs behind his ear so that he can memorize every plane of his omega’s face.

Keith nods against Shiro’s steadfast hold. “Yeah. Almost everyday since I turned sixteen.” He tips his head down and drags his nose along the length of Shiro’s collarbone.

A shiver traipses the length of Shiro’s spine, something lingering and tinged with arousal. He tips his head to the side and lets Keith take whatever he needs. “You don’t have to imagine anymore,” he whispers, ignoring the hitch in his voice when Keith’s nose brushes along the long-neglected scent gland on his neck.

He feels Keith shudder with the inhale.

A purr rumbles through Keith’s chest, and Shiro can feel it beneath his palms as Keith gently brushes his nose against the raised bump of Shiro’s scent gland. With each brush, a burst of scent floods the air — saturated in summer-stained happiness and the hint of spicy arousal.

“Keith,” Shiro whines, fingers tightening against his omega, because he swears that scenting never felt like this before. Never so intimate.

He never wants it to end.

But eventually, Keith pulls back with a dazed expression on his features, scent drunk and smiling so softly. He holds Shiro’s gaze as he tips his head to the side, baring his neck for his alpha.

It makes something possessive claw at Shiro’s ribs and sear through his stomach.

Keith has never bared his neck for anyone — no alpha could make Keith submit without a fight. And here he was, allowing Shiro to press in and drag his nose along the column of his neck. He was shivering in Shiro’s sure grasp, but Shiro would never let him fall.

He smelled like rich chocolate, warmed and spicy with the undercurrent of cinnamon. His lips parted, and he couldn’t stop the instinct of dragging them along the warmed skin of Keith’s neck. He wanted to taste his omega, curious if his scent would be half as delicious as his kisses.

But with a restraint he didn’t know he had, Shiro pulls back.

Keith giggles at the sight of Shiro’s face. With dexterous fingers, he straightens out the starlight fringe of Shiro’s hair. “Do I smell that good?” There is a teasing tone to Keith’s voice, like he can already tell how wrecked Shiro is.

“Like a dream,” Shiro mumbles before burying himself in Keith’s neck again.

With a laugh, Keith scratches through the shorter hair at the nape of Shiro’s neck.

Shiro isn’t sure how long he spent curled around Keith, buried into the omega’s neck. It was long enough for Keith’s chest to rumble with a purr and to die back down to a sleepy echo.

“Do you want to talk about earlier today?” Shiro whispers, petting a steady pattern down Keith’s spine.

Keith snuggles deeper into Shiro’s chest, the last rumbles of his purr drifting off. He doesn’t speak immediately, but Shiro is fine to wait as long as it takes.

“The Blade mission didn’t go well.” The words are muffled against Shiro’s skin, but Keith doesn’t seem like he wants to pull away. “Regris was injured.”

“Is he going to be alright?”

Keith nods, face burying a little more into Shiro’s chest. “Yeah, but Thace is worried that they may not be able to save his tail. And it was all because I trusted the representatives of the planet we were on. Antok even warned me that they’ve been known to carry heavy anti-Galra sentiment, and I just ignored it because I wanted it to be easy. So all of this is my —”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Shiro’s tone is almost biting, and his hands curl around Keith before the omega can even think about leaving.

Keith slowly tilts his chin up, perched on the swell of Shiro’s pec. His eyes are wide and still stained with the redness of his recent tears. “But —” 

“How are the prejudices and hatred of other people your fault, Keith?” Shiro’s tone is unwavering, even as Keith slumps against him.

“I just should’ve been more careful.”

“I won’t deny that you should be more careful, because it would probably do wonders for my blood pressure.” Shiro mumbles and breaks into an easy smile when Keith laughs at his joke. “But I don’t think assuming the best of people is something you need to stop doing. It’s taken a lot for you to have faith in people, and I don’t want some bastards to undo all of the hard work you’ve done.”

Keith presses his hands against Shiro’s sides and surges upward to catch his lips in a kiss. Shiro can’t help but melt into the sensation, one that is slowly growing more and more familiar.

“Thank you,” Keith whispers.

Shiro nods and presses their foreheads together. His words are breathed across Keith’s lips, “You can also come to me sooner with stuff like this. I’ll make sure we take the whole day off or something.”

“Admiral Shirogane, captain of the Atlas and leader of the Coalition, taking a day off?” Keith gasps before tumbling into chuckles at his own joke. “Maybe I will since it’ll be good for you.”

“ _You_ are good for me.”

“Whatever you say, Alpha.”

Shiro can’t stop the playful growl that reverberates through his chest at hearing Keith refer to him as “alpha.” Maybe it’s because he’s been in love with Keith for years. Maybe it’s because it soothes that jealous and possessive part of him. Or maybe it’s because Keith is finally _his omega_.

He playfully nips at Keith’s scent gland, enjoying the way Keith opens up to him — tilting his head back and arching into Shiro’s hold.

And maybe, if he’s lucky, Keith will officially become his omega soon. Shiro can only hope and pray and hold Keith as close as possible, because he’s now the luckiest alpha in the entire cosmos.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! (≧◡≦) ♡
> 
> If you feel like it, you can follow me on [tumblr](https://communikateee.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/communikateeee)!


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